A Tailor-Made Bride (15 page)
Hannah’s heart jumped, and she scurried across the room to stash the duster behind the counter. Taking a deep breath, she flattened the pleats of her shirtwaist with a trembling hand and quickly patted her hair before turning to greet her friend and possible first female customer.
Cordelia walked into the shop and closed the door behind her. She scanned the room with a sweeping glance, then turned to Hannah. “I need you to make me beautiful.”
The tears that glistened in Cordelia’s eyes banished the smile from Hannah’s face. Responding to her friend’s obvious pain, Hannah rushed forward and wrapped an arm around the other woman’s shoulders.
“What happened?”
“He doesn’t see me.” She hiccuped as a sob tried to break free.
“Who?” Hannah asked. “Who doesn’t see you?”
Cordelia buried her face in her hands. The empty basket slung over her arm creaked as her movement squashed it into her side. She might have said a name, but it was too muffled to make out. Hannah extracted a handkerchief from her sleeve and dangled it against the back of Cordelia’s hands until she took it.
“Let me close up the shop. Then you can tell me all about it.”
When Hannah twisted the key in the lock, the click reverberated in her ear. What if another customer came by? Closing the shop could cost her a sale. Dread churned in her stomach and acid burned the back of her throat. She couldn’t afford to lock out a customer. But then one of the verses from Proverbs that she’d been meditating on during her morning devotions floated across her mind.
“Better is a little with righteousness than great revenues without right.”
Hannah swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth and flipped over the
Closed
sign without further regret.
By the time Hannah finished with the door, Cordelia had composed herself somewhat. The dear girl was obviously still in a fragile state, however, so Hannah ushered her behind the counter and into her work area. She pulled the chair away from the sewing cabinet and up to the table and gently pushed Cordelia into it.
“Now,” she said, dragging her fabric trunk away from the wall and seating herself upon it. “Who is this man with the atrocious eyesight that has you so upset?”
“Only the most wonderful man in all of Coventry.”
Hannah could hear the heartbreak in the girl’s voice, and her own heart ached in sympathy. “If he’s so wonderful, why are you crying?”
“Because he doesn’t see me! Not as a woman, anyway. To him I’m just J.T.’s little sister.” She wrung the handkerchief between her fists. “I’ve loved him for ages, and the dim-witted man has no idea.”
Hannah smiled. “Dim-witted, huh?”
Cordelia looked up sharply. “Oh, no. I didn’t mean that. Not really. He’s actually very intelligent. He operates the telegraph and post office down by the bank. You might have met him at church yesterday. Ike Franklin?”
Hannah tried to fish out a visage matching that name from the sea of faces that swam through her memory. Finally one clicked—a thin man in a well-cut gray wool sack suit. Dark mustache. Kind eyes. “Was he the one who led the hymns?”
“Yes.” A dreamy look came over Cordelia’s face. “Doesn’t he have the most luscious voice? It’s like chocolate icing, smooth and rich. I could listen to him all day.”
“You’re making me hungry.”
Cordelia giggled. “Sorry.”
Hannah reached out and covered Cordelia’s hand with one of her own. She didn’t want to add to the girl’s pain, but she didn’t want it prolonged, either. It would be better to face the truth now than to wallow in the misery of unrequited love. Hannah gave Cordelia’s hand a gentle squeeze.
“I don’t want to dash your hopes, Cordelia, but what if he simply thinks the two of you don’t suit and is trying to spare your feelings by pretending not to notice your femininity? It might be better to set your sights on someone else.”
“There is no one else! Not for me.” She yanked her hand away from Hannah and balled the hankie into her fist. Her knuckles began to whiten, but then she exhaled a long breath and relaxed her grip. “I know you’re trying to help, and believe it or not, I’ve asked myself that same question. But I don’t think it’s true. The two of us get along famously. We share many of the same interests—books, music, food . . .” She blushed. “He loves my cooking.”
What man wouldn’t? The woman could bake like an angel.
“About six months ago he hired me to bring him lunch every day, since he’s not allowed to leave his post, even for meals. He has to man the wire at all times during his shift.” She paused, then her lips curved into a shy smile. “He claims I’m the best cook in the county.”
“Well, that proves he’s not completely dim-witted, then. He may not be a lost cause after all.”
“Oh, Hannah. Do you think so? Do you think I might still have a chance?” Cordelia bounced to the edge of her chair and leaned so far forward that if the table hadn’t been supporting her, she would have toppled to the floor. “This isn’t just a schoolgirl infatuation. I honestly believe Ike and I would suit. I’ve come to treasure the friendship that has sprung up between us over the last few months. If the line is quiet when I arrive with his lunch, he sometimes invites me to sit and visit with him while he eats. We talk about books we’ve read, or he’ll tell me funny stories about the scrapes he got into as a boy. He’s even taught me how to tap my name in Morse code.”
Hannah nodded thoughtfully. Lasting relationships had been built on less.
“If you could fashion me a dress that would somehow make me at least passably pretty, he might finally notice me as a woman and decide to come courting. And if he doesn’t . . . Well, at least I would know where I stood and could pack my hopes away quietly.”
Hannah could hear the pain and insecurity embedded in Cordelia’s words, and they tugged at her heart. There was no question about whether she would help. She’d known she would the minute she flipped the
Closed
sign in the window. The question that plagued her was how. They had only one chance to make a new first impression—an impression so striking that Cordelia’s gentleman friend, myopic though he might be, couldn’t help but see the beautiful woman in front of him.
The seed of an idea burrowed into her brain and began to take root. This called for more than just a new dress. This called for an Ezra-esque transformation.
Hannah got up and started pacing. “Are there any upcoming community festivities, like a harvest celebration or box social or something of that nature?”
Cordelia’s face scrunched up in confusion. “There’s the Founders’ Day picnic in a little over a month, but what does that have to do with—”
“That’s where you will make your debut.” Hannah clapped her hands and grinned, but Cordelia failed to catch the excitement.
“It will take you six weeks to make me a new dress? I didn’t expect to have to wait that long.”
Hannah plopped back down on the trunk and took Cordelia’s hands in hers. “I don’t need six weeks to sew a dress. I don’t need six days. But if you are patient and willing to work hard, I have a plan that will make it impossible for your Mr. Franklin to see you as anything but a desirable woman.”
Finally a spark of interest lit her eyes. “Really? You can make me desirable?”
“You’ve already got all the makings of a beauty. Thick, shiny hair; lovely complexion; dark lashes.”
“But I’m fat.”
“No you’re not. You’re just . . .”
Cordelia shook her head. “Don’t try to spare my feelings. I see the truth every time I look in the mirror. If I were thin like you, I—”
“You can be.” Hannah released her friend’s hands to clasp her shoulders. “You can be. I’ll teach you my calisthenic routine, and you can join me on my morning walks. Dr. Lewis asserts that if a woman wants to be thinner, she has only to eat less and exercise more.”
“Who’s Dr. Lewis?”
“Dio Lewis. He’s a great proponent of physical education for women and children. He developed a whole new system of gymnastics that can be used by anyone to great result. If you’re willing to try, I promise you will see a marked difference. The exercises will improve your health and give you increased energy and strength with the added benefit of trimming your figure. Then, as the day for the picnic draws closer, I can fashion the perfect party dress for you, one in vivid colors and flattering lines that will make it impossible for Mr. Franklin to take his eyes off of you. You’ll make as big a splash as Ezra did at church yesterday.”
Hannah stood and pulled Cordelia to her feet. “It will mean sacrifice and hard work: changing your morning routine, eating less of those delicious baked goods of yours, and living with some aches and stiffness as your muscles adjust to their new activities. Are you willing to try?”
“Yes! Oh yes. Can we start today?”
Hannah laughed and embraced her friend. “Let’s start with the fun stuff. Patterns and fabric. We can start the exercise tomorrow.” She flopped her collection of swatches onto the counter and drew Cordelia over to the latest issues of
Harper’s Bazar
,
The Delineator,
and
Peterson’s Magazine
as well as the Butterick catalog she had brought with her from San Antonio.
An hour later, they were still huddled over the counter oohing and aahing at the fashion plates of elegant ball gowns and sophisticated day costumes neither of them were ever likely to wear, yet both women found great pleasure in admiring the designs.
At last, Cordelia released a sigh of regret and closed the last magazine. “I should probably go. I have to put supper on for J.T., and I’ve monopolized too much of your time.”
“Nonsense,” Hannah said. “I can’t remember when I’ve spent a more enjoyable afternoon.” She straightened the pile of books and put the fabric swatches back under the counter. “And I look forward to starting our new regimen tomorrow morning. We’ll be able to talk more.”
“As long as I can still breathe.” Cordelia grinned. “J.T.’s told me how fast you walk out to the river.”
A little thrill shot through Hannah at the thought that Jericho had noticed. Of course, she had no way to determine whether he found her athleticism appealing or not. Many men seemed to prefer their women soft and fully dependent on the man’s greater strength. Would Jericho appreciate a strong woman, or was that just another mark against her?
“I guess I’ll have to tell him about my plans to join you on your constitutionals during supper tonight,” Cordelia said as she retrieved the basket that lay forgotten on the worktable. “He’ll probably take that news better than when he learns I intend to order a new dress. That little discovery will probably send him over the edge.”
Hannah frowned. “He would begrudge you a new dress even when you have your own income to cover the cost?” The man could certainly be a grouch at times, but he’d never struck her as harsh.
Cordelia waved off her concern. “No, not if I needed one. But this will be a purely frivolous purchase, the kind he believes leads to vanity. You have to understand . . . J.T. was only sixteen when our pa died, and he’d been running the farm on his own long before that. For years he scraped and saved just to put food on the table. Even now, when he has a successful business and a surplus of money in the bank, he’ll only buy himself a new pair of boots when he’s worn the soles clear off his old ones. Practicality has been burned into his nature by necessity. He can be incredibly generous to those in need, but he has little tolerance for frivolous spending by those who could be putting their money to better use.”
A stone the size of a bread loaf sank into Hannah’s stomach. No wonder the man was always so touchy around her. He saw dressmaking as a promotion of vanity and wasteful spending. She’d been foolish to think for even a minute that he might find her attractive.
She understood his point of view. Practicality was certainly a virtue, but so was beauty. The Lord himself wove it into the very fabric of his creation, making it visible to anyone with eyes to see. Why couldn’t Jericho perceive the value in that? Just because he was right didn’t mean she was wrong. Yes, a love of beautiful things could be taken too far, leading to greed and vanity, but so could practicality. She’d known plenty of embittered misers who sucked the joy out of the lives around them by harping about every little thing that failed to be useful.
Why, if Jericho Tucker were there right now, she’d tell him a thing or two about— The door rattled. Pounding followed. “Delia? Are you in there?”
A dark shape pressed itself against the window glass trying to peer inside.
Hannah swallowed.
Jericho Tucker
was
there.
J.T. stepped back from the window unable to see much past the display. Where
was
that girl? Hawkins had come by the livery twenty minutes ago looking for her. Something about his bread order. The man said he’d already tried the house and she wasn’t there. J.T. had promised to pass the message along, thinking it would be an easy task. Cordelia usually went only three places on her own: the mercantile, the telegraph office, or the drugstore, if she got a hankering for a peppermint stick. Since Hawkins was looking for her, that narrowed the options down to two.
Yet she hadn’t been either place. Ike said she left his office at half past noon, and it was nearly two o’clock. J.T. had checked their home in case she’d returned, but he couldn’t find any evidence that she’d been back since her noon outing. The stove had even grown cold. That’s when he started to worry. Delia never let the stove go cold.
He’d been about ready to mount up and start searching along the road when Tom mentioned that he’d seen her go into Miss Richards’s shop. But here he stood, and the door was locked, the shop closed. Were the two females together? Were they in trouble? His pulse sped from a trot to a canter.
“Delia!” He pounded the door again. Harder.
Finally, the latch clicked and the door swung open.
“Goodness, J.T. The whole town can hear you yelling,” Delia scolded as she grabbed his arm and dragged him inside. “Do hush.”
He glowered at her, his relief turning quickly to ire. “Where the devil have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you.”
